Most of All
by LadyTenebrion
Summary: Spike died in an honourable way, and received commendation in the afterlife because of it. One problem; Spike doesn't want to stay dead. But, when a hay-wire spell is executed, he finds he's got a lot more on his plate then he bargained for.
1. 1

**Most of All**

:: CHAPTER ONE ::

"Bloody hell!" Spike breathed as white light streamed into his eyes. He moved his hand instinctively and turned away, an automatic fear of daylight. He froze, momentarily, as he realised nothing was going on. He turned and faced the light. He was squinting. "Hello?!" He called in a deep voice.

He looked down at his clothes and jumped back. "Bloody hell!" He cried. He was dressed in white. His leather duster was missing, and instead he had appeared in a suit...a white suite. He blinked and tried to remove what he had seen from his memory banks, but when he opened his eyes again it was still there. "Shit!"

"Tut, tut!" Clucked a voice from behind him. He swung round and glared at the short man who stood behind him. "No swearing in here, I'm afraid." The man bobbed a little before grinning and looking up. "Orders from above!" He laughed. It was clearly a personal in-joke. Spike continued to glare at him. "You must be William." The man continued. "Welcome. My name is Delaney, Patrick Delaney." He laughed again but stopped when he saw the angered look on Spike's face. "It's like James Bond." He grinned, trying to explain. "You know, Bond, James Bond!" He chuckled to himself before sighing and becoming perfectly serious. "This is going to be hard on you, isn't it?"

Spike growled at him before unbuttoning the white jacket and throwing it to the ground. It was followed immediately by the tie and shirt. The man giggled slightly before putting up his hands in front of him.

"Whoa there, tiger!" He mused. "We don't want to see Little Willy!" He giggled again at his own joke.

Spike glared at him, but rested his hands on his belt. "Fuck off." He snarled. Pushing past the man, but he couldn't see anything. Everything was white. There was no floor, no ceiling, no walls, nobody. He stopped short and turned again to face the man.

"What did I tell you about swearing!" He smiled. "Tut, tut!"

"Listen, mate. I'll do what I want, when I want." Spike folded his arms frustratedly as he continued to look around. They stood in silence for a moment, the short man bobbing slowly, back and forth. "So," he said, irritably, "what's the deal?"

The man smiled, wider this time. It was a warm, welcoming smile, but had little effect on Spike. He continued, despite this fact. "The deal, as you so eloquently put it, is that you, dear chap, have died." The man smiled and reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, white paper bag. He opened it up and picked out a toffee from it, popping it into his mouth. He grinned as he noisily chewed on it. "It's a bit of a shock, I know, but there it is."

Spike sighed. "I know I died. I died ages ago, back in England. I meant--" he looked at the man's expectant face, "ah, never-mind." He sighed and turned around. "Where am I?"

"Heaven." The man replied simply.

Spike scoffed and turned to him, but the man seemed completely engrossed in selecting another toffee from his bag. The man looked up as he popped another one into his mouth. Spike scoffed again to add impact.

"What's the matter?"

"Heaven? Oh please. _I'm a VAMPIRE_! Grrrr." He added, lifting his hands to his sides and attempting to look scary. The man was getting tired.

"Yes, Heaven." He sighed. "It would be so much simpler if you would just accept things."

Spike shook his head. "Hello - vampire. Evil roaming the earth, bitey-bitey, suckey-suckey, that's me." The man watched him, waiting for a question to present itself. "I'm a vampire." Spike added again, with no emphasis, his eyes drooping in annoyance. He glared morosely at the man.

"And you're in Heaven. Congratulations." The man reached inside his pocket and retrieved a notepad, noisily ripping off the top sheet. "Here you go. Throughout the rest of eternity, you are to bunk in with these two...mates. You will find them here." He passed him the sheet.

Spike looked at it and raised his eyebrows. "That's a big number." He said. The man nodded. "A very big number, but where am I supposed to go, exactly. As I said, vampire."

There was a long silence before the man spoke again. "You keep saying that, William. Do you think it has any bearing on what I am to do with you? What exactly is your purpose in saying it?"

"I could kill you right now, that's my point."

"I doubt that, William. Whatever was your bearing on Earth, it isn't in Heaven...at least, not here. And, even if you were to kill me, I would return here simply within the hour. There would of course be paperwork, and you would have a black mark against your name."

"I'm a VAMPIRE!" He growled, trying to morph into gameface, but something was holding him back. "I have killed _loads_ of innocent people."

"Yes, well," said the man, "if you'd rather be downstairs, I suggest you talk to the Man, but he's not accepting personal visits for a while."

Spike opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it. "Ah, forget it." He snarled, before sighing and looking around. "So, where's room six-four-ten-one-four-three-zero-zero-treble-three-nine-twentyseven-four-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine--" The man pushed his hand down on the paper to stop him from going on.

"Follow me..."

::

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	2. 2

**Most Of All**

:: CHAPTER TWO ::

Spike sat in a circle of blue light. He was cross-legged with his hands on his knees. Crelt sat outside of the circle, reading from a large book.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Asked Spike, nervously looking about at the dancing speckles of purple that began to float about his head.

"Of course. You don't spend seven-hundred and forty-three years stuck in the land of _We All Wear White_ without picking up a few things about supernatural powers." Crelt nodded as he perused the papers.

Spike coughed and blinked, tiredly. "How come you're still here, then?" Crelt looked up. "Just sayin', it makes no sense. If you're so bad and powerful, how come you're here?"

Crelt glared at him before speaking. He sighed and said; "I cured a village from the pox back in 1234. Gave me a _Get Out Of Jail Free_ card."

Spike nodded for as reasonable an amount of time there could be before he could ask his next question. "What's with all the slang? You talk like..." he faded off. "Were you turned, too?"

Crelt tipped his head back and laughed. "Yeah - right!" He grinned and returned his head to an upright position. "What do you think the dead do all day? Smile? Hell, no!" He laughed again whilst Spike growled at him. One of the flying sparks flew into his face, singeing him momentarily. He flinched automatically, but felt no pain. "We _watch_ the living. Especially in the shower...phwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" He grinned and winked at Spike, who sat there waiting for him to move on. "Fine, whatever." He said. "All you need to do is think of the living; a memory. Then, you can shift your arse coz I've got polo at six."

_A thought_, Spike thought. _Any thought_.

_No, not just any thought. A memory._

_A memory of...life?_

_His life?_

_England. London. Poetry. William and his Bloody Awful Poetry. _Spike shut his eyes and took a deep breath. _No, not that memory._

_Darla..._

_Dru..._

_Angel..._

_Buffy. _He snapped his eyes open. _Not Buffy. _He looked around. He was alone in a white room with a wooden table and three chairs, and clock. _Buffy?_

_Buffy kicking me. Buffy punching me. Buffy kissing me... Buffy!_


	3. 3

**Most Of All**

:: CHAPTER THREE ::

"So tell me, Elizabeth, what do you want most of all from your experience with us?" The woman at the forefront of the interview panel smiled, falsely at Buffy, who attempted what she hoped looked like a smile back.

"Well, I hope to gain a--" her mind went blank. She tried to think of something, anything, but nothing came. "A, um,--" she tried again, her eyes bulging at her own inability to construct a sentence. And it had all been good up until this point. At least, in her mind it had. As well as it could have gone. She'd answered all the questions with poise and articulation and everything Willow had taught her, but now she could think of a simple reason as to why she wanted the damn job.

She had to say something soon. The panel were looking at her, watching her with expectation.

"Miss Summers?" One of the other panel members asked.

She would have to lie. "Oh, um, sorry. Excuse me, please. I was just about to sneeze, I could feel it coming on." The woman raised her eyebrows. "I have a cold."

"In the beginning of summer?" Asked one of the other members.

"Hay fever." She spurted out without thinking. Nice thinking, Buffy. Inwardly she was kicking herself.

"Hay fever?" The lady scowled at her. "Well," she continued, shifting the papers in front of her and arching her fingers together, "thank you, Miss Summers. I--"

"Bloody hell!" Buffy shouted as she nearly toppled backwards off her chair, and jumped to her feet. "It worked!" She grinned and blinked, as though using hers eyes for the first time in a long while.

"Please control yourself!" The woman screeched impatiently.

She breathed in the air and clutched a hand to her chest. "I am back," she said, still grinning, "with a beat!"


	4. 4

**Most Of All**

:: CHAPTER FOUR ::

"Please leave now. Before I call security."

Buffy glared at the woman before swinging around and staring at the mahogany covered walls of the room she was in. "What's going on?" She asked, wrinkling her brow and spreading her arms out, palms-up.

The panellists exchanged nervous glances. "This is the end of your interview."

Buffy tilted her head forwards. "For a job?" She asked, pointing a finger towards the ground. The woman didn't reply and instead began to move her hand slowly to one side of the desk. Buffy smiled slightly at her reaction. "Well," she said, straightening up and sparkling her pearl-white teeth in a wide smirk, "you can take your job and shove it up your arse!" She grinned, before sticking two fingers up at them and moving her hand to her neck.

Suddenly, she froze. The panel froze with her.

"What's this?" She asked, looking down. Her hands cupped her breasts as a huge smile spread across her face. "Jackpot!"

"Miss Summers, _please_!" Cried the woman, standing up. "I'm asking you to leave, now!"

Buffy's face lost all of its humour as her eyes rose to meet her. "Miss Summers?" Her mind was running.

"Yes, Miss Summers, Miss Elizabeth Summers." The woman was nervous; her fingers gripped the sides of the desk in front of her, her knuckles bore white in the process.

Buffy's eyes bulged. "Buffy Summers?" She said feebly, her breath catching in her throat. She swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed there. The woman, terrified, continued to look straight ahead. "Shit!"

Spike growled as he turned a corner and into a dark alley in LA. He had no idea where he was going. But he was going there. He had no idea what he was doing. But he was doing it. All he knew was that he was pissed…and he was Buffy.

He pushed his way into a crowded club with a large black door. Thuds and smoke billowed around him as he made his way to the bar, and a jukebox boomed in the background. He had been walking in daylight and now he needed a drink.

He was dressed in a small black skirt and a white strappy-top. He had been wearing a matching black jacket but had dropped it when he had caught his reflection in a pane of glass. It made him look like a conformist, for Christ's sake.

He slammed his fist down on the counter and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Triple vodka, mate." There was silence. He looked up and saw a large man staring at his chest. "Oi!" He growled, "no! Now, the vodka."

"Calm down, sweetheart," the man grinned, leaning over the counter, "I wont let anything happen to you."

"Blegh!" Spike spat in disgust, his face contorting accordingly. "That's disgusting." The man toughened his eyes and reached a purple hand across to him. "Whoa – you don't seriously think that I'd go in for that, do you?"

The man shrugged. "Not really up to you." He grabbed hold of Spike's shoulder and pulled him forward.

"Hey!" Spike shouted. A few other men in the bar began to walk forward. They pulled him back away from the bartender. "Yes, thank you!" He said sarcastically. "Bloody hell." He shook his head and started heading for a cubicle to sit down in. "Freak."

"Hey, pretty lady, wanna dance?" Spike looked up and furrowed his brow. The four men from before was standing around him, watching, and the bartender had joined them. They all had slimy grins on their faces.

"You serious?" Spike asked, lifting an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from person to person. Man, he was desperate for a fag.

"Completely, darlin'." One of the men said.

"Fuck off." He growled in disbelief.

The men looked at each other. "Not your choice." One of them reached forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder and led the other to his waist.

Spike jumped up and pushed him back. It was a mere reflex, but it was effective. The Slayer-strength in Buffy had passed onto him as he forced the man back and into the jukebox. It smashed and fizzed around him.

Another of the men stepped forwards, and another, and another. But one by one they all fell at Spike's hand, until at last only the bartender remained. He stood before Spike in a greasy vest and jeans and grinned a toothy smile. He didn't seem at all phased by the four large men this young woman had managed to knockout with such ease. He edged forwards before reaching out and grabbing hold of Spike's top. Spike bucked backwards in revulsion, falling backwards onto a table, the short man on top of him.

Puss-covered lips came down onto his as he shot his eyes open and quickly kicked the man right in his crown jewels – usually a place he tended not to go for. The man lurched backwards and collapsed onto the floor, his hands firmly clasped over his genitals.

Spike jumped up and spat repeatedly, wiping his mouth with his hands. "That was…absolutely…disgusting!" He ground out between spits. He glared down in abhorrence at the slop on the floor before sending two more kicks his way.

Spike turned on his heel and headed towards the door. "All men are bastards."


	5. 5

**Most Of All**

:: CHAPTER FIVE ::

Buffy opened her eyes as if for the first time in a long while. White light poured into them as she sat up, her hand automatically moving to protect from the shock.

"Hello?" Her voice croaked as a shadow began to appear and focus.

"Ah, William!" Delaney grinned. "I've been meaning to speak to you."

"William?" Buffy asked, clearing her throat and looking around. All she could see was white. Bright white. There were no walls, no windows, no ceiling or floor. "Where am I? What's going on?"

The man tutted. "Oh, we're not starting that again, are we _Spike_?" He grinned at his own use of the nickname.

Buffy's face lost all expression. Her eyes bulged and fixed upon the short round man in front of her. "Spike?" Her breath caught in her throat. She looked down in front of her. She had a little less…and a little more… "Where in hell am I?"

"Half right," said the man, "heaven." He corrected. He peered into her eyes before he let out a gasp and doubled back, covering his mouth. "You're not William! Oh dear…" He turned and began pacing, muttering to himself. "How could this have happened? Oh, no! We are in trouble. An imbalance…" he froze and turned, "…or worse – a balance!" Buffy watched him, confused. "My dear, tell me, what is your name?"

"Um, er, Buffy." She said, confused at first. "Buffy, Elizabeth Summers. Miss." She corrected as she came more into her own. Gradually things were beginning to appear around her. The white was replaced by dancing specks, and then by faint walls. Soon, a room appeared around her, with a desk and two chairs. There was a woman sat in the desk, typing at a computer.

"Yes, Delaney?" The woman asked in a tired voice. She shot a sideways glance at Buffy's shocked form before winking and turning back to the man.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" He whined, pacing in front of her. "There's been a switch! I don't know how this could have happened! Not for centuries! Oh dear, oh dear!"

"Silence Delaney!" She commanded in a deep voice, standing up. She moved round the desk to where he had frozen, silenced, and placed the palm of her hand against his forehead. Moments later she released him and he seemed to snap-back into life. "I see." She said, angrily, darting a swift look towards Buffy. She sat back down and rested her forehead on her hand, propped up by the table.

"So you see what I mean!" Delaney continued. "This hasn't happened for centuries—"

"Yes," the woman agreed, "and to think what happened last time! Chaucer was never the same after that twelve-year stint as the Pope." She let out a long breath.

"Um, hey!" Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "Is anyone going to explain to me what's going on?"

The woman glared at her before replying. "You have switched personages with an ex-vampire, Spike. Do you know who?" The short pause wasn't enough for a response. "Evidently he knows you. Anyway, you're stuck like this until I can have a word with Jim. That's it. You may leave." The woman began typing onto the computer, clearly dismissing their presence.

"Hey!" Buffy growled, slamming her fists down onto the desk. "What the hell d--"

"Heaven." Corrected Delaney.

"Whatever!" She screeched. "What am I supposed to do? How long will this take? Am I just expected to wait as—as—"

"Yes." The woman plastered a saccharine smile across her face. "Don't worry, _dear_," she slimed, "Jim'll fix it." She cackled at her own joke.

Buffy stared, wide-mouthed in disbelief and disgust, as the room began to fade out of view from around them.

_What's going on? _She didn't know. The one thing she knew was she _hated_ Spike.

"So," bobbed the little man in front of her, his hands behind his back as he brought Buffy back from her trance, "you're the Slayer, huh?"

She glared at him. "Yes." She spat out.

"How come you didn't kill the vampire?" He grinned, innocently.

"What?" She scrunched up her face. "I thought you people saw everything."

"We do." He answered simply, still bobbing. She continued to stare at him. "So…" He asked, probingly.

"What do you want?" She snapped, irritably, crossing her arms.

Delaney nodded and grinned, cheekily, like a little child wanting in on a secret. "You like him, don't you?" He continued to nod, though his words were more of a statement then a question.

She ground her teeth together before speaking in slow, one-syllable words. "I _hate_ him!"


	6. 6

**Most Of All**

:: CHAPTER SIX ::

"Ah, Clem, I hate being Buffy. Most vamps are afraid of me, the rest try to kill me, old people tut at me if I'm wearing hot clothes, but smile at me if I'm dressed like a curtain. And, worst of all, this army guy tried to chat me up. I mean, please! Like I'd ever go for a guy whose biggest appendage is his gun!" Spike whined, having found the only person in town he remembered who wasn't one of the Scoobies.

Clem nodded, still staring at him, a little nervously.

"I mean, I'm a person too, you know!" Spike continued into his shot glass. "What do they expect me to do?!" He shook his head and blinked with wide, watery puppy-dog eyes.

Clem looked around. The seedy, back-door establishment they were in was designed for daemons and creatures that Buffy usually hunted down, but Spike had managed to find it within a few hours of travelling. Since his entrance he had been watched, and Clem knew it.

"Did I tell you about this guy who kissed me?" Spike asked, looking up, a disgusted and hurt look on his face. "He had really bad teeth, a naff comb-over, and dirty clothing. He was sickening. I nearly threw-up afterwards. Seriously." He reached across and tugged on Clem's arm. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

Clem looked at him sympathetically. "Look…Spike," he said, a little wearily, "I don't think it's safe for you to come in here."

Spike watched him for a moment before realisation struck. "You're embarrassed by me! After everything we've been through, you're embarrassed by _me_!" His eyes began to well-up.

"No, that's not what I'm saying--"

"Yes, it is! You're embarrassed by me!" He sobbed.

"No, come on. Don't cry." He tried.

"It's not my fault," Spike swallowed hard, "I'm just very emotional right now--"

"I know, I know." Comforted Clem. Spike lent across the table and draped his arms around his friend, sobbing onto his shoulder.

"I don't want to be Buffy anymore! I don't even know where she lives!"

Spike walked. His legs were leading him, but his hands were in his pockets and his head was down. He had so far established that he was in LA, the big Hollywood sign had helped with that, but that didn't help with anything else. Clem had bought him some new clothes; baggy jeans and a baggy t-shirt, which had so far secured him in being ignored by the elderly and shuffled past by most of the rest.

He sighed and took a deep breath, tipping his head up to see where he was. A cemetery. His legs had led him to a cemetery. It was probably for the best. After all, he was supposed to be standing in for the Slayer.

He pulled back an iron gate and stepped inside. It would be so bad, he thought. After a while he'd get used to it. He'd learn how to apply lipstick, and choose clothes, and-–but he didn't want to, damnit! He wanted to go back to how things were. He was an evil killing-machine. Grrrrrr!

"Well, hello there, pretty young thing." A voice from behind him made his skin crawl. He knew that voice. He hated that voice. He wanted to rip the throat out from that voice.

"Xander." He growled, turning.

Xander stood there with Anya, and Willow, and… His stomach turned. Angel was there, smiling at him like they were friends. They all were smiling at him. Big happy friendly smiled.

Spike wanted to throw up again. It was all too sickening.

"Buffy, we were so worried about you. We hadn't seen you for days!" Willow moved forwards and slung herself across Spike, hugging him in a welcome. Automatically, Spike's hands moved to hold her.

"Hey, Red." He never had had anything against Willow. She was alright. It was that other bastard, Xander. And the prick…Angel.

Anya grinned. "I would hug you, but I'm expecting and don't want other people's vibes polluting me. Right Xander?" Xander took a deep breath and looked at his wife.

"Bloody hell! You're not seriously expecting to have the spawn of the elk, are you?" He couldn't stop himself. It was a natural reaction that was surging through his body. He had never before needed a reason to restrain the real him…but, as he looked at the reaction on their faces, he realised he'd have to.

_Man, life sucks._

He let out a long forced laugh until the others joined in. His laugh soon turned to a growl as he looked at Angel.

"Well, lets get hunting, eh?" Angel said, grinning a Buffy. The others began to disperse into the trees. "Er, Buffy I was wondering if we could have that little discussion now?" He moved forwards and reached out a hand.

"Fuck off!" Spike spat in disgust. "Like she'd ever—I mean, I'd ever go out with you!"

Angel looked at him strangely. "I meant about the ghost-al plane Willow was sensing. But it's nice to know where you stand." His voice had a bite to it, as he looked straight ahead and began to walk forwards.

Spike followed him. "Look--"

"Look, Buffy," Angel said, turning, "I understand what you're saying, and I won't pester you about it anymore. If the idea disgusts you so much, then just forget it. We can just be friends."

Spike scoffed. "Men never want to be _just friends_. You people only have on thing on your mind, and it isn't football."

Angel reached out a hand and put it on Spike's shoulder. Spike eyed it suspiciously. "You know I'm leaving for Canada tomorrow night. You've known for weeks. What's brought this on? Can't we just part as friends?"

Spike growled under his breath. His eyes were still fixed on the hand on his shoulder. "Whatever." He continued, angrily. Still glaring at the bare fingers.

"Good." He heard Angel whisper. He turned just as Angel bent and caught his lips in a soft kiss. Spike froze in fear and disgust. "Goodbye, Buffy." Angel turned and left, as Spike remained motionless.

Cracks in the bracken from behind him barely dented his shock as Willow appeared. She was smiling, supportively.

"How did it go?" She asked softly. "What happened?" She put her hand on Spikes shoulder, pulling him back into reality. He turned to her.

His cheeks swelled as he brought a hand to his mouth. "Bloody hell! I think I'm going to be sick!"

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